The Rose and Raven
by Madame Crimson
Summary: "What were you thinking, Madame? Bringing this man into your life, your home, when he could very well have been sent from the Guard to arrest you! To destroy you! Will you let another man break you?" Grell spat through grinding teeth, chest heaving with sobs as she choked on every broken word. TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE AND TWO DANGEROUS CRIMSON MADAMES
1. Reunion

A/N: This marks the first installment of my newest Kuroshitsuji fanfiction, The Rose and the Raven! I estimated this fanfic to end up being around six chapters long, with a sequel planned, of course~ I rated this fanfiction 'T' for violence later on, potential romance, suggesting of adult situations, drinking and smoking. There are my own characters in this fanfiction.

To take care of any confusion regarding the pronouns I will be using for Grell, in this fanfiction, in her shinigami form I will be using she/her pronouns, as I do think of Grell as a transwoman. When I write Grell in her butler, or human form, I will be using he/him pronouns, as she is presenting herself as a man in her disguise. You can disagree with my opinion, of course, but please do not mention if you think Grell should be called different pronouns in reviews. If you have any questions regarding Grell's pronouns, please message me and I will do my best to answer them. c:

A general plot overview for this fanfic is Angelina (Madame Red) comes back from vacation with a fiancé, and his step daughter. This fanfiction is suggesting there was an affair between Madame Red and Grell, as in the manga Grell confessed her love for Angelina. Naturally, Grell is upset over this sudden man and his daughter. Basically, I'm creating terrible drama and shipping frenzy.

I have tried my best to correct any grammar or spelling mistakes with the resources I have, sorry for any mistakes you may see.

I truly do hope you enjoy this fanfic, as I have worked hard on it to present it to you. Have fun reading!

Copyright notice: Kuroshitsuji and all its characters belong to the fabulous Yana Toboso.

* * *

That evening, Grell abandoned her normal red locks for a much less vogue color of dull dark brown, and dressed herself in all black. The only flash of red that she donned was a red and white striped ribbon, to tie back her hair. She blended in with the shadows as she walked through the dark hallway of her flat, darting passed mirrors and avoiding her reflection. The shinigami didn't want to look at herself as such a dull person. But of course, before she left her crimson apartment, she had to steal a look. Grell was almost shocked to see herself, after not assuming this image for so long. Drab hair, round glasses, and a butler uniform. The men's clothes fit her better, with her wide shoulders and flat chest, and she sighed at her monotonous masculine appearance. Although she was looking forward to this evening, Grell disliked the lack of flare to the outfit she had to wear, and the pathetic personality she had to present. She appeared to be weak, with a look one of what you would expect from a puppy left out in the rain. She couldn't even wear makeup, and she left her apartment quite depressed at how tedious it all was.

But of course, the flamboyance she was dressing up for wasn't dull at all! Oh, no! The Madame was most likely the core of splendor, with beautiful crimson, a sharp blade of stunning grandiosity! The way she tore up bodies and painted everything red, working with passion and furiousity! How the world was so cruel to the woman! How Grell had longed for her mistress!

It was such a boring month without Angelina. Day after day of normality, the same unexciting schedule. No matter how much work she drowned herself in, she finished every task efficiently – as if that was even possible of Grell Sutcliffe! Even William had no complaints of her performance. There was no exhilaration in the death, the blood and carnage! No bliss in the cinematic records, spiraling into the night sky! It was dreadful. For a month Madame Red had vacationed along a beautiful canal in Venice, dancing into the night on balconies of starlight, in the arms of rich Italian men. Grell had wondered if the stars shown just as bright for Angelina in Italy.

But now they were to be reunited! How passionate it would be! Two crimson red hearts to be melted together after they were apart for so long! Perhaps Madame Red would have a surprise or two for her loyal butler~

As the sun began its slow descent along the sky, carrying out its wistful colors in the slowest way possible, Grell became impatient. Finally, after hours of wait, the carriage arrived at the manor. Grell's head perked at the sound of horse hooves clicking against cobblestone. Angelina was finally home! The butler's heart leaped at the thought of seeing his mistress once again, feeling her skin, embracing her slim body. He advanced toward the carriage with a smile on his face, but it soon faded when he opened the door. Madame Red had arrived, but a man was seated next to her, with his arm around her shoulders. Shock replaced his enthusiasm. What was this stranger doing, in the carriage with Grell's beautiful mistress?

"Come on in, Mr. Sutcliffe. I've heard lots about you, that's for sure." The man said, grinning.

For a few moments Grell stared, befuddled, and unblinking at the man. What did he mean, come on in? For a moment Grell scowled, but then realized that the stranger was asking Grell to get into the carriage with them. The butler climbed up into the carriage, clumsily making his way into the seat across from the couple. He sat with his hands in his lap, looking quite shy. The man's lips were moving, he laughed and smiled, but Grell could hear none of it. All he could focus on was his mistress, who looked sad. Angelina forced a smile. He could tell when his mistress was truly smiling, which was almost never. Grell was certain the man didn't even know her last name, or the dress she wore the night Grell met her, or her favorite wine. The man couldn't have known the shade of lipstick Angelina was wearing.

At first Grell stared with his head cocked at Angelina, waiting for some sort of explanation. Her eyes drifted from the carriage, and her mind was absent to another place. Perhaps she was pretending she was in the arms of another man, a man who loved her. Maybe she was thinking she could blame the man for her and Grell's murders if they were ever caught. After moments of nothing, just silent thinking, finally he connected her lovely voice to her moving red lips.

"Grell, he asked you a question." Madame Red said, sternly, looking at her butler with emotionless eyes.

Where was the passion that gleamed in her eyes? Surely this man has stolen it away. Suddenly, Grell was reminded of William, with the same oblivious, stoney glare. He avoided all love, ignored affection. Perhaps this was happening to Angelina. _Emotions are of no value in the field. _

"Ay, what?" The butler snapped out of his daze and looked over at the man.

"I said, are you doing well today, Mr. Sutcliffe?" The man repeated.

"Well, I… I suppose so." Grell replied, looking again down at his hands in his lap, hooking the fingers together.

"That is splendid." The man smiled. "Have you missed Miss Angelina?"

"Of course I have missed my mistress, sir." He said, with a soft voice, shifting in his seat.

The man laughed once more as if it was an oddity to miss a person you loved, whom you were close to.

"This is Sir Reginald," Angelina informed, discreetly, yet sharply nudging Grell's shin with her foot.

Of course, the butler had gotten used to the sharp 'nudges' that his mistress dealt when she saw his mind was drifting away. Sir Reginald reached out his hand for Grell to shake. Grell blinked before awkwardly shaking the man's hand.

"N-nice to meet you," Grell stuttered. "Sir Reginald…"

The name sounded foreign and ungraceful on Grell's tongue. The name was much too bold, much too loud and intimidating to be paired with an elegant name such as 'Madame Red'. Sir Reginald laughed again.

"What an ungraceful, small man you are!" He said, with a large, stupid grin on his face.

Grell blushed, looking down at his hands once again, curling his fingers into his palms once or twice before the man asked another question. So many questions!

"And you're taking good care of Miss Angelina?" The man asked.

The butler finally understood why in fact the man was here. "Well, yes, sir! I am taking great care of your daughter!"

Both Sir Reginald and Angelina laughed.

"Grell," Angelina placed a delicate hand on her butler's knee. His heart fluttered at her touch. He looked up into her beautiful hazel eyes. "He's my fiancé. We are engaged, and to be wed in the summer."

"Oh… I see…" Grell let his eyes fall from hers, afraid he would have gotten attached to the gleam in her eyes. He then remembered that it wasn't there anymore.

"His daughter is coming to visit tomorrow. She's beautiful." Madame Red said, smiling, winking.

Grell didn't move. He just sat there, sinking into his disappointment. He was right about Angelina having a surprise, that's for sure…

"Oh, my daughter will not be in any kind of relationship with a servant." Sir Reginald bellowed.

"Of course, sir," Grell muttered, trying not to make his tone sound distasteful. "Sir Reginald."

* * *

That night, mistress and servant bathed in blood. They drenched themselves in their victim's blood, painting the flat red. Oh, how the Madame worked, with fitful rage and screaming hot passion! It was more orderly, that Angelina now had experience after killing twice before. When they killed, they drank. It was a rich red wine, a gift from Sir Reginald to his betrothed. Must have been expensive. Perhaps even too expensive for a 'servant' to drink. They sat in stools across from each other at a tiny table and became drunk on the heavy scent of blood. Angelina smoked, too. Her deceased husband's wedding cigars, a congratulations on their marriage. They were useless, now, with no groom to smoke them over a brandy. They would have been regifted to Sir Reginald, no doubt. They intoxicated themselves with pain, halos of smoke floating above their heads with every agonizing exhale.

"You're ruining your lungs, Angie." Grell muttered, taking the cigar from Angelina, and putting it between her own teeth.

"What does it matter?" The Madame slurred. "It's better to just rip them out and have me suffocate."

"Honestly, you sound pathetic. What a painful human you are. Running off to get a fat diamond on your finger from the first man who fancies you. There is too much at stake to trust anyone else!" Grell yelled, tapping the cigar over the blood-stained concrete.

Angelina said nothing for a while. They listened to the outside world, but there was nothing. The earth was dead to them. Finally she said, "I'm sorry, Grell."

"Save your breath." Grell let the cigar fall from her fingers, and she smashed it into the ground with her heels.

"I still love you." Madame Red whispered, turning towards the redheaded reaper.

The woman trailed her fingers against Grell's arm, placing her hand over Grell's. The shinigami slapped her hand away and pushed the table to the side, relishing the sound of glass breaking, wood crunching over its own weight. She could imagine it as wooden ribs, crushed, a crystalline heart, shattering. Grell wrapped a hand around Angelina's neck, pulling the woman to her feet. She threw the woman to the ground. Angelina coughed and sputtered on the ground, backing up to the wall, trying to spare herself from Grell's fury. The shinigami fell to her knees before Madame Red, struggling to keep her composure as she reached forward to brush a lock of red hair behind Angelina's ear. Grell traced her fingers along the woman's jaw line, over her chin and along her neck, over the red marks her grip had held. She led the tips of her fingers across the protruding bones in Angelina's shoulders, and then back up to her neck. The grim reaper caressed Madame Red's cheek before curling her hands around her neck again, tightening the hold.

"What the hell were you thinking, Madame? Bringing this man into your life, your home, when he could very well have been sent from the Guard to arrest you! To destroy you! Will you let another man break you? You are so destructive, it's almost unhealthy to love you! Now, you deserve to be locked up in a prison cell. I've done everything I could for you! I love you, Angie, really, I do!" Grell spat, through grinding teeth, her chest heaving with sobs between broken words. She tightened her grip with every breath. "But how do you expect me to stay loyal to you when you destroy everything we have?"

The shinigami and human both breathed heavily, and Grell released her grip, letting her hand fall to her lap before she got up and walked away.

"I forgive you, Madame Red."

Her voice echoed down the hall as her heels clicked away, growing fainter as the world slept on.

* * *

A/N: Make sure to follow and review, and stay tuned for the next chapter! I love constructive criticism, so please voice your opinions on this one. c:


	2. Arrival

A/N: This chapter serves as some type of comic relief after the tension I built up in the last chapter. Enter Kuro, Sir Reginald's odd daughter. Hopefully I will be able to further develop her character in further chapters, but for now she serves as a laugh. I noticed all the errors in the first chapter, and I'll try my best to correct them all in this chapter!

Copyright notice: Kuroshitsuji and all its characters belong to Yana Toboso.

* * *

It was quiet in the salon. There were large windows that towered up to the loft, which served as the second floor. Light streamed into the room between the long red drapes hanging from the top of the windows, casting shadows around the circle of sofas that surrounded a tea-table. Sir Reginald was in town, so it left the Madame and her butler alone in the manor together, like it was most days before that long, dreadful month they were apart. Sir Reginald's daughter was to arrive at the manor in the evening, visiting from Liverpool. Angelina told Grell everything she knew regarding the girl.

"She's turning eighteen in a week or so, so Reginald is most likely in town to buy her present for her birthday." Madame Red said, holding a porcelain tea-cup with both hands.

Angelina sat next to Grell, but distanced herself from him. She didn't know how to feel now, after yesterday's events, so she decided to make everything as casual as she could. He knew she was pretending nothing happened, and hated it. Her butler looked over at her.

"She's quite young." He replied.

"Not really, as she is seventeen. Her mother died in childbirth, and she is an only child. Reginald apparently travelled her whole life, leaving her in Liverpool to be raised by various nannies. He named after her Japanese mother, Kuro, and from photographs I've seen, she inherited oriental traits from her mother, also." Angelina explained. "Perhaps it's from her father's absence, but I've been informed that she is quite unstable and seems to depend on romantic partners to give her adoration."

Grell almost remarked that the description sounded similar to a certain mistress he knew. Instead, he commented on his intake to this information.

"She sounds like a nutcase."

Angelina smiled before scolding her butler. "That was hardly necessary."

"I could say the same the same of things you've done, also, Madame." He retorted, his glare unwavering.

She stood up and strode over to the windows, her skirts sweeping around her legs as she walked. Angelina clutched the drapes, her dress blending in with the deep, cascading crimson. She looked beautiful in the sunlight, and it broke Grell even further. He got up and left without his mistress's dismissal, no longer able to tolerate the Madame's blank stares and painful eyes.

* * *

Kuro stepped out of the carriage, refusing her father's assistance. She held a black and red lace fan over half of her face, but Grell could already tell that her face was quite pretty, and her skin fair. She held a matching parasol over her head, as if she was shielding herself from the sun like a vampire. She was quite off, Grell had speculated, as he took her luggage. She didn't pack much, and for that he was grateful. Kuro wore full Victorian mourning apparel; a black dress with ruffles along the neckline of the corset, and full skirts trimmed with lace. Her raven black hair fell down just passes her shoulders. Angelina put on her finest, and most fake, smile for Kuro, and held out her hand for the girl to shake.

"My name is Angelina. I'm pleased to meet you." She said, forcing enthusiasm.

After refusing for several moments, the girl warily shook the Madame's hand.

"This is Kuro, my daughter." Sir Reginald boomed, swelling with pride.

"This is my butler, Grell." Angelina stepped aside to showcase the clumsy man.

He jumped at the mentioning of his name, and he hastily set down the luggage cases to bow politely. Kuro smiled behind her fan, remaining silent. Grell took up the cases in his arms once more, walking ahead of the rest to hold open the door for them. He overheard Kuro and her father talking as they walked into the house.

"I'd actually like to see the garden, Father…" She said with a hushed voice. "…No, Father, I'm not hungry."

Her voice sounded irritated of her father, who held out his arm for her to take, but she walked on her own, seeming to ignore his gesture. Grell closed the door behind them and left them in the foyer with Angelina, walking up the stairs and down the hall, to a room in the loft he had a feeling their visitor would enjoy. He set the cases down on top of the chest, at the end of the canopy bed, and walked to the window, looking out over the garden. He jumped from a voice behind him.

"Mister Grell?"

Grell whipped around in alarm, but relaxed when he saw it was only Kuro. She smiled at his reaction.

"I'm sorry to startle you. Father told me to go up to my room and change out of this dress to something more appropriate for tea." Kuro told him. "I really wish he'd stop nagging me. I can wear what I please. Right?"

The butler didn't know if he should reply, but she looked at him expectantly.

"Well, I suppose so." He said meekly, with a shrug.

She sighed and closed the door, before walking to her cases. Grell stared at her in confusion.

"I suppose a nice red would do nicely. Miss Angelina is fond of the color red." Kuro stated, pulling out a red dress with just as much lace, ribbons and fullness as the dress she wore had.

It was such a pretty color, with ruffled red skirts to and an underlying black layer, trimmed with black lace. She proceeded to undo the ribbon that laced up the back of the corset, turning her back to Grell. His eyes grew wide in panic.

"Can you undo the rest of the bodice for me?" Kuro asked, sliding the ribbon out of the lacing eyelets.

"M-my lady! D-do you not think that is…" He searched for the correct word in his mind. "P-perhaps, i-improper?"

"Well, there is no maid, and I cannot do it myself, so who will do it for me?" She asked, turning towards him.

Grell was frozen with dread.

"Oh, come on, now. It's not like I'm asked you to undress me." She reasoned.

Grell stuttered with embarrassment, his cheeks turning red. "W-with all due respect, m-my lady, you kind of are asking me t-to do just that."

"You're such a silly man!" She exclaimed. "Just unlace the corset and I can probably find my way out of the rest. Of course, you'd probably have to lace up the corset on the other dress, too…"

Grell warily stepped closer to her, and took the ribbon in his shaking hands. He slowly started to unlace the corset, trying not to touch her skin. She held the front of the corset to her chest as he neared the end.

He backed away from her when he finished. "There! Do you need me for anything more?" Grell asked, discreetly patting his cheeks to try to return them to the pale color they were before.

"Probably, I will need you to lace up the other corset I'm going to put on… If it bothers you that much, just turn around." She replied.

Grell turned around to look out the window, trying to forget that a lady was changing in the same room. He turned after a few moments to see if she had finished. She was not, in fact, even out of the other dress. He ceased breathing when he turned to see her standing in only petticoats. Grell felt his face heat up. He imagined his cheeks to be as red as the Madame's hair. Grell briskly turned around again, sucking in air after trying to suffocate himself with lack of oxygen for looking at the lady in that state. After a few moments, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped once more, turning around to find a worried Kuro, holding the dress to her chest with one hand, drawing back the other hand she tapped his shoulder with.

"Goodness, you are so tense!" Kuro exclaimed, turning around.

She stood, waiting for him to lace up the red corset she now wore, raising her eyebrows when he didn't even budge.

"What's the matter with you? Lace up my corset, Father will probably come in to get me for tea and I won't be ready, at the pace you're going!" She said, her voice sounding a little pitchy.

"Y-yes, m-my lady!" Grell sucked in his cheeks as he laced up the corset, realizing when she spoke again that he was holding his breath.

"Make it tighter, Mister Grell." She said, sucking in her stomach and pushing it in further to appear as skinny as she could.

"I believe if I made it any tighter, my lady, it would suffocate you." Grell sighed, hesitantly pulling tighter on the lace.

She shook her head. "Mister Grell, I assure you that I have trained myself to withstand lots of pain."

Grell puzzled over her words as he pulled the lace a last time, before tying it off. Kuro exhaled sharply. Apparently she was holding her breath, too. Her face was slightly flushed when she turned around to face the butler.

"Thank you," She breathed, folding up her other dress that was on the ground before putting it away in a case.

"Of course, my lady." Grell squeaked, inching towards the door.

She looked just as beautiful in this dress as she did the other, with the crimson garment hugging her figure perfectly, sweeping along the ground in full skirts of Henrietta fabric. Just as Grell was going to compliment the lady on how fine she looked in the dress, Sir Reginald opened the door on the poor butler, trapping him behind it. Kuro flashed Grell a worried look before following her father out of the room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

That evening, when Kuro was released from the clutches of tea and her father, and dreadful small talk, she took it upon herself to find the garden. She walked through the rows of roses, lilies, carnations, and orchids, admiring the flowers, just in bloom, as it was late spring. Grell was kneeling by a patch of crimson roses, plucking weeds and dead flower petals. In the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar red and black dress he had encountered earlier that day, and Kuro's black lace parasol. She quietly sang a song as she bent over to smell a carnation. He turned back to the task at hand, keeping to himself, before Kuro noticed he was there.

"Mister Grell, how lovely to see you." She smiled, ceasing her song.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a few moments before turning his head and smiling. He couldn't say it was a fake smile, as she was pleasant company from what he experienced.

"And you. It's a nice evening, so I decided to tend to the flowers." Grell said, trying to make the conversation as boring as he possibly could so she wouldn't continue it. Of course, she did.

"I was wondering who took such good care of this garden. It's splendid." Kuro said.

Grell stayed silent, but then noticed a thorn in his finger, soaking his white glove with blood. He cried out, jumping to his feet. Kuro whirled around and ran to Grell after assessing the wound.

"It's only a thorn, don't get too worked up." She said, taking off his gloves to see the injury better.

Suddenly, she bit the part of his finger with the thorn. He cried out once more, drawing his hand away from her. She stood there with a large thorn between her teeth, cocking her head at his reaction.

"I got the thorn out of your finger." Kuro shrugged, spitting it out on the grass.

The hairs on the back of Grell's neck stood up at her unladylike actions, and he promptly fainted.

* * *

A/N: That concludes this chapter! Please follow and review! c:

Also, for information on Victorian mourning clothes, you can follow this link: fashion/historical/2001_03_

And what I had in mind of Kuro's black dress looking like: i01. wsphoto/v10/1085722357_

Also, Kuro's red and black dress: i00. wsphoto/v1/1702479066_

(I apologize if the links don't work.)


	3. Awaken

A/N: And the plot advances in this chapter!

I didn't notice as many errors in chapter two, so hopefully I'm getting better with correcting my spelling/grammar mistakes. c: And on the thorn act Kuro pulled, I'm not actually sure if it works; it was something Kuro would do and was hilarious, to me anyway.

If any of you were wondering, and for even my own good, the chronology of the fanfic so far goes like this:

In May, so late spring, that Friday, Angelina arrived home. That Saturday, Kuro arrived at the manor. I placed the first half of this chapter at Sunday morning, and the other half at Monday, which would be a workday for Grell in her job as a shinigami.

The way I visualize the work of a shinigami to be is, they must reap so many souls in one work week, and whether you draw it out along the week or finish it all in a day is up to you. If you don't record all the souls expected of you to reap when your shift ends on Friday, then you get the dreaded overtime. I'm writing that Grell gets a day off on Monday to finish all of her work in one day, and then return to the manor as a butler.

Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Grell awoke in his bedroom, in the dark, though behind the blinds it appeared light outside. He pulled the covers up over his head, hoping the events of the previous month was just one terribly long nightmare.

"Mister Grell, you're awake?" A familiar voice whispered.

He shot up, looking towards the voice. Kuro was sitting in a chair next to his bed, fanning him with her lace fan. Grell groaned, realizing that Sir Reginald and his daughter were not only figments of imagination sent to torture him.

"How did I get here?" He asked her, feeling his head begin to spin again.

"When you fainted in the garden, I decided to leave you there. You looked peaceful, in the flowers. I went into the house and pretended I was going to bed. When Miss Angelina and Father went to bed, I came back out and dragged you into the house. It took a while to find your bedroom, but eventually I got you into bed so you could rest." She explained, closing her fan.

"You dragged me up here, all on your own?"

"Well, yes. You're surprisingly light." Kuro shrugged.

The butler sighed, and swung his legs over the bed to place his feet on the ground. A pounding rang throughout his head. He noticed that he had all his clothes on, except for his shoes and jacket, and his hair fell in his face.

"I wasn't going to let you sleep with your shoes on." Kuro smiled slightly.

"I would have preferred to stay out in the garden, in the flower bed." He grumbled, pushing strands of dark brown hair behind his ear.

"Me, too. It's lovely out there." Kuro sighed, getting up. "Can you walk?"

"How did you learn to take out thorns like that?" Grell inquired, ignoring her question.

"I study primitive medicine. That was one of the only useful methods I've learnt so far, and it hasn't worked up until last night." She answered.

The butler began to wonder if she even had chances to try it out.

"At least you didn't dance around me and chant to the gods for healing." Grell frowned, looking over at her.

She laughed. "I favor a respectable reputation."

He raised his eyebrows, wondering why she still said she wanted to hold a good reputation in Grell's eyes after all she has asked him to do. Kuro still wore the red and black dress from the previous night, and had faint black rings underneath her eyes. Her hair was messy, and she looked as much a mess as Grell believed he must have looked. She must have stayed up all night to make sure he was okay.

"I didn't need you to watch over me." Grell said.

"I wanted to. Sleep is boring, anyway. I wanted to make sure you were okay, after you just fainted like that." Kuro continued to smile, and she was at least convincing.

Her eyes gleamed. At least Sir Reginald hadn't stolen her happiness, like he had Angelina's. Grell didn't want to tell her that he actually fainted quite often. He went to stand up, but stumbled and fell into her arms. She laughed.

"You're so clumsy! And you're saying you didn't need me to stay with you!"

* * *

After Grell managed to shoo her out of his room and fully dress himself, he went upstairs to prepare breakfast. As he walked through the quiet halls lit up with the morning sun, pulling open curtains as he went, the butler heard a deep, gaudy voice.

"The butler is so clumsy, it's a surprise he can even serve tea, let alone kill three women!"

Grell stopped in his tracks and covered his mouth to keep from gasping. He felt his heart falter, and placed and hand over his heart, as if his heart would cease beating. Who could have figured it out? Was Sir Reginald actually from the Guard? The butler inched down the hall, and poked his head around the corner, finding Angelina's fiancé making a call with the telephone in the foyer. He appeared to look irritated.

"I'm not sure about Miss Angelina, yet. Her past does make her suspicious…"

Grell's eyes grew wide and he inhaled sharply before striding into the foyer.

"Mister Reginald, sir?" He squeaked, approaching him cautiously.

The man quickly hung up the phone, whipping around to look at who had caught him. He smiled and pushed wrinkles out of his suit jacket.

"Good morning, Mister Sutcliffe. You're up early." Sir Reginald said.

"I always get up this early to prepare breakfast. If you pardon my asking, why are you up so early in the morning?" Grell interlocked his fingers, as he did when he was nervous.

"I was making a phone call to one of my colleagues in Italy. I have to call early because their time zone is different, you see." He tried to lie, but Grell wasn't fooled.

"Italy is an hour ahead of London, sir, and well, it would make sense to call later in the day, since they are probably awake later in the afternoon, as the Madame usually is. Excuse me if it's too rash, but wouldn't it be more of a nuisance to them to call early?" Grell explained.

"Well, that is too rash." Sir Reginald growled, pushing passed Grell to go up the stairs and back to the room he shared with Angelina.

Grell bit his lip and rushed to prepare breakfast before his mistress awoke.

* * *

The whole day had been quite uneventful, as they had all gone into town and left Grell in the carriage as they shopped. Angelina gave Grell a day off on Monday, and the shinigami returned to her own apartment to get ready for her true job.

As soon as she stepped through the door of her apartment, she untied the ribbon in her dull hair and combed through it with her fingers, letting it turn to its normal shade of crimson. As she walked down the hall, she shed all the dismal clothes she was required to wear as Angelina's butler. Regaining the jaunty spring in her step, the shinigami threw open her closet to pull out her normal clothes. She sighed happily when she saw the gorgeous red heels at the back of her closet. It was truly freeing to pull on her work clothes and brush out her long hair, and to push her normal glasses up the bridge of her nose. She smiled a toothy grin at herself in the mirror, squealing in glee at the sharp, pointed teeth. It was a beautiful feeling to be herself again. No longer was she 'Mister Sutcliffe, the Barnett butler'!"

She relished the cinematic records spiraling up into the sky, gleaming with the stars as she soared up to sever them in half with her chainsaw, wind from her speed tossing her hair around. Grell landed on her feet, next to the body, and recorded the death in her brown leather journal, flipping through the pages scrawled with spidery red ink. All day and into the night went this way, with excitement in the hot blood, ripping flesh with her scythe, flying after cinematic records! How refreshing it was after a weekend of tending to a needy nobleman and his odd daughter!

* * *

Grell returned to the manor late that night, making sure to close the door quietly behind him and sneak into his room. Again, Sir Reginald was still up, sitting in the salon, sipping on a glass of whiskey.

"Mister Grell!" He called, setting down his glass with a clink.

The butler jumped, wild-eyed and startled. Sir Reginald chuckled.

"It's only me. What'd you think, a thief would call out your name?" He laughed, eyes twinkling.

Grell was about to say he wasn't so sure, when Sir Reginald got up from the chair and held out a letter for the butler to take.

"Take this to the post office in town, in the morning, okay?" He asked.

The butler nodded and took the letter, pocketing it in his coat before arriving to his bedroom. After he shut the door and removed his jacket, Grell built a fire in the fire-place and was about to toss the letter into the crackling flames, but then stopped himself. Could the contents of the letter hold importance? He remembered Sir Reginald's conversation on the phone the day before, and pondered if the letter was addressed to the same person he was talking with so early in the morning. Grell turned the letter in his hands. On the front was a red wax seal, and on the back of the envelope, it had been addressed to the Liverpool Police Department. He tore open the envelope and pulled out the stationery, letting the envelope fall to the ground in a rush to unfold the letter and read its contents.

_To whomever it may concern,_

_I am in London investigating the 'Jack the Ripper' case and it's suspects. After manipulating Baroness Angelina Durless-Barnett in Venice, Italy while she was on vacation to become my fiancé, she took me to her estate outside of London. It seems like a wealthy residence, as she is a widow of Baron Barnett. The woman is a doctor and has the correct medical knowledge to carry out the murders. However, she hasn't even hinted towards any sort of crime she could have committed, and doesn't seem like she has any motive. Her butler, Grell Sutcliffe, is a short and skinny man who doesn't have the coordination to murder three women, and couldn't possibly have any motive, either. I will continue to investigate the household, and will report back to you in a month's time._

_Sincerest regards,_

_Sir Reginald Acartha_

Grell felt anger rise in his chest at this man's manipulation. How could Angelina possibly have allowed Sir Reginald to toy around with her to investigate the case? The same rage that staked his heart when the Madame tried to apologize crawled up his throat, and he tore the letter in half, and then in half again. The enraged butler cast the pieces of paper into the fire, and then the envelope after it, watching at the flames hungrily crumpled the paper, melting the wax and diminishing the report of Grell and Angelina's crimes.

* * *

A/N: That about wraps it up for this chapter. Please remember to follow and review!

Just a little note; when you guys review, it's very helpful to me because I get to fix what you don't like and keep up what you're enjoying, so I welcome criticism! c: Thank you very much!


	4. Arousal

A/N: Wow! This story is actually coming to the end. Only two more chapters left after this one and it will be over! I definitely have had a great time writing it, especially while I have so much free time over the holidays. Anyway, I feel like I haven't really been writing enough with Angelina in the last few chapters so there will me more of that in this chapter. I'm not sure if I'm even writing Madame Red all that well, but I'm trying my best, anyway. I'm hoping this will be more of a longer chapter, and there will be romance in this one, also!

Let me know what you think of my character Kuro! Your response helps tremendously!

Again, like I always say, I've tried my best to correct all the spelling and grammar mistakes in this chapter, and I truly do understand how annoying it is to some people to see a simple error in the writing, so just know that with the recourses I have, that being the spelling and grammar check on Microsoft Word, I have to the best of my ability corrected the errors I saw.

Now, in this chapter, the pronouns I use for Grell are sort of confusing. I think of Grell as a transwoman, with she/her pronouns, but since she is under cover as Angelina's butler, and presenting herself as a man at the moment, I will be referring to her with he/his pronouns. Later in the chapter when her hair returns to its crimson shade instead of the brown she uses for her disguise, I will return to calling her female pronouns, and it will happen quite suddenly so this is a before-hand notice before you become hopelessly befuddled. I have this idea that shinigami can transform their appearance to whatever suits them, and at any time, so that explains my thinking somewhat in the last chapter, when she was transforming her appearance back to her normal shinigami form. If you have any questions, please ask!

Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Grell kept his distance from everyone in the house. He didn't talk to anyone, didn't even look at anyone. Kuro had tried to engage him in conversation, but how could he trust her? She was probably working with her father to frame him and his mistress. Sir Reginald and his daughter were in town all morning and would probably still be there into the afternoon, shopping for a dress for Kuro, since they were holding a party for her birthday the next day. Angelina and her butler were alone in the manor. After the Madame dismissed him for the morning, he stayed in his room. Grell could tell that Angelina had been worried about him, the way he was carelessly keeping up the clumsy butler act and acting more like a muted, sarcastic version of the shinigami's normal self.

She opened the door to his bedroom after a while, finding him sitting by the window, in a daze. Light from the open door lit up the dark room, illuminating their figures.

"Grell?" Madame Red whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The butler looked up at her with sad eyes, biting his lip like he was about to cry. Her spirits crumpled at the sight.

"What's wrong with you? You're not like this…" She said softly, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, concern shining in her eyes.

Grell didn't feel the urge to tell her that when he was alone in his apartment, he was usually like this. "I'm never like any of this. It's all an act, Angie, and you know that well." Grell swatted her hand away, but it wasn't harsh.

"Then drop the act and tell me what the matter is. You don't have to pretend around me." Angelina scowled, kneeling down next to her butler so she was eye level with him.

"I don't even know who I am without it anymore." He breathed, turning away from his mistress. He looked at his hands, as if he felt ashamed of what he confessed.

"You're Grell Sutcliffe. You're the flamboyant, crimson grim reaper I fell in love with." Madame Red gently turned his head so that he faced her again.

"No, I'm not. I'm not flamboyant, and I don't deserve to wear red, and I don't deserve to be a beautiful woman like you." Grell interlocked his fingers to try to stop his hands from shaking.

"There really is something wrong with you. You aren't running a fever…" Her voice trailed off when she saw Grell's bottom lip tremble, and noticed his struggle to keep back tears. His eyes were dark and gloomy, like his mood. She placed her hands over his. "Come on, Grell… Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's true." The butler's hands stopped shaking now, almost in the way you stop trembling when your fear suddenly grows to true terror.

"No it's not," She whispered the words into his coat, nestling her forehead into his shoulder. Angelina inhaled his scent, something like musty jasmine that she couldn't match to anything other than Grell Sutcliffe.

"You couldn't possibly know anything. Nobody knows a thing of me. We both lead separate lives away from everything else, and we both know it." Grell couldn't bring himself to shrug her off his shoulder.

The Madame didn't talk any longer. She found nothing in her heart to say. For the rest of the afternoon they sat in silence with each other, with heavy hearts and cluttered thoughts. Oh, how cruel the world was.

* * *

The next day was busy, and Grell didn't find time to be clumsy with anything he did, especially when there was nobody to act for. He ran around town with errands, and Angelina bumbled around the manor, ordering Grell how to set things up for Kuro's birthday party, and how to do this and where to put that. Angelina was putting on a face today, one that only ever showed at social events like parties. As far as Grell knew, all that ever happened at parties were boring noblewomen and their rich escorts wore fine clothing and discussed unimportant matters over expensive champagne, topics that they probably didn't even hold their interest in the first place. Grell couldn't understand what made Madame Red so excited over parties, but if it made her happy, he was going to do it correctly. That evening, when the guests began to arrive, the butler remembered to take their coats and hats and to lead them into the salon where the event was planned on being held. Once in a while he slipped or tripped over a lady's skirts, just to look up and see Angelina smile shyly into her champagne glass and pretend not to notice her flighty butler being so gawky.

"It looks like you've returned to your normal self again, Mister Grell!" Kuro exclaimed, turning the man around to face her.

The young woman did look beautiful for her party. She wore a sleeveless dress with long, full skirts that fell down to the floor. The dress was all black, alike the one she wore when she arrived at the manor, with lace trim and a big bow in the back of her waist. She wore a black cape with the outfit that flowed to the ground, with a long train behind her. She wore her hair down, and the raven locks framed her face. Kuro had the ever-present black lace fan, of course, that she held over half of her face. She didn't even have it open when she was with Grell, and he couldn't figure out if it was because she wanted to seem mysterious to her peers or if she was conscious about her looks.

Grell snapped out of his daze. "Oh, please forgive me, my lady!" He begged, quite pitifully. "I was sick, you see, and didn't feel well!"

"I know how illnesses work." Kuro winked. "Active student of primitive medicine, remember?"

A little blonde ball of bouncing pink and white lace, ribbon and chiffon bounded up to Kuro.

"Miss Kuro, I'm guessing you must be the birthday girl!" Squealed a terrifyingly familiar voice. "Wow, you're eighteen! You're dress is adorable, but it could use some brighter colors. Perhaps if the skirts were a nice, dusty pink with white polka-dots and light pink trim! Or, maybe if the corset had been laced up with a cute pink ribbon! Or..."

Grell stared in utter horror as Elizabeth, the annoying niece of the Madame, pulled Kuro's attention towards her. She talked without even taking a breath in between her sentences. The butler found it as an opportunity to sneak away from the conversation and tend to the arriving guests, abandoning Kuro to try and make sense of anything the energetic girl was saying.

After an hour or so, Grell found himself trying to catch a breath outside. He was sick and tired of stuffy rich men shoving their heavy fur coats on him as if he was a coat rack. After trying to regain his eyesight after being in what seemed like eternal darkness from a coat on his head, he noticed a figure moving about in the garden. Grell decided he would investigate who this person thought they were, walking around in the flowers he deliberately cared for all evening the previous day for Kuro's birthday. When he approached the person, he noticed it was in fact Kuro. She sat on the bench and fanned herself, quietly staring at the party going on inside the house.

"My lady, what are you doing out here? You should be inside, celebrating your birthday with the rest of the guests." Grell said, sitting down next to her.

"It's a lovely evening, and I think I might stay out here. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'd rather be with the flowers then those people. I understand they came for my birthday, but I can't stand the way they feel as if I owe them something for coming. I'd rather have no guests then to have guests that feel as if they are high and mighty for celebrating my birthday with me." Kuro said, looking over at the butler.

He nodded, and stared at the ground, trying to concentrate on the flowers other than Kuro's lovely face.

"How do you feel about Father marrying Miss Angelina?" She suddenly asked, ceasing her fanning to look him in the eyes.

Grell's eyes shot back up to her's, realizing he'd been daydreaming. "W-well, am I allowed to have an opinion?"

"You can with me. I don't care if you're a butler, you're still better company then those noblemen." Kuro wrinkled up her nose in disgust, before once again fanning herself.

"Well, I suppose it really isn't my choice whether they are married or not, even if your father has his nose in the air most of the time." Grell thought about what he was saying much too late to stop himself from actually saying it. He clamped his hands over his mouth in panic.

Kuro laughed. "You're right."

Grell relaxed when he heard her agree. They conversed until Kuro was pulled back into the party by Elizabeth, who begged her to open the present she had bought her first. The butler sighed and watched her go, before trailing into the manor after them. Kuro faked a smile throughout all the presents and cake, and told the guests empty thank-yous before they all left. As soon as the guest's attention was focused on getting out the door, she fled up the stair to her room before she was bombarded with farewells. Grell rushed around to return the guest's coats before slinking back to his own bedroom, knowing that Angelina would get all the guests out of the house without his assistance.

When all was quiet, and the butler could no longer hear footsteps or voices, he crept out of his room to look upon the salon without all the people. Grell always did this after parties, just to give himself piece of mind that it truly was only Angelina and himself in the manor again. Only, this time it wasn't just them this time, it was this detective from the Guard and his daughter. The butler tiptoed down the halls, closing curtains and tidying up the rooms as he went. When he got back into the foyer, he peered into the salon. His eyes fell upon a scene playing out passed the salon, right outside Angelina's bedroom. Sir Reginald had the Madame backed up to the wall, with his lips on her's.

Once again, the anger and disappointment Grell had felt over Angelina's deceit grew in his chest again, demanding to be let out, like a caged animal. Although Grell was well aware that Madame Red and her fiancé were intimate, actually seeing them together tore apart something in his heart. He sunk to the ground as he watched them move into Angelina's bedroom, closing the door behind them. Just this morning he convinced himself in believing that he was making amends with his mistress. He thought of the way Angelina had destroyed every moment they shared together now, and instead of becoming upset about it, Grell had a new idea. What if he just betrayed Angelina like she betrayed him? He thought of how willing Kuro was to speak her mind with Grell, and how comfortable she seemed around him.

_'I've been informed that she is quite unstable, and seems to depend on romantic partners to give her adoration.'_

That's what Angelina had said. It was a perfect plan. It couldn't go wrong. Grell snuck into the salon and quietly ascended the steps to the loft, where he gently knocked on Kuro's bedroom door. He heard her footsteps on the floor, and his heart raced with anticipation until she opened the door. In the seconds up to when she opened the door, Grell began to doubt himself. What if this plan never worked? He debated just walking away and putting an end it when Kuro swung open the door.

"Oh! Mister Grell, what a pleasant sur-"

The butler stopped her mid-sentence by swallowing her words in a kiss, placing his hands on her waist as she took a step back. To be honest, he never intended to make an approach like this, but he couldn't turn back the events, especially when she was kissing him back. Kuro pulled him inside the room without breaking the kiss, and backed him up to the wall as he shut the door. When he felt his back hit the wall, she pulled away, smiling up at him.

"What was that, Mister Grell?" She breathed, moving her hands up to place them on his cheeks.

"I can't exactly know for sure. Something compelled me to do it." He blushed, looking down at Kuro.

"Well then is it okay with you if something compels me to do this?" Kuro cocked her head as she unbuttoned his coat one by one, sliding it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

She kissed him again and moved him away from the wall. Grell quite literally stood there and allowed her pull the ribbon from around his neck and unbutton his shirt, not quite knowing what else to do. But as she pulled away from the kiss and trailed her lips along his jawbone and down his neck, and pulled the ribbon from his hair, he felt his normal personality show through the petty butler performance. Kuro ran her fingers through Grell's hair, turning the shade from dull brown to fiery crimson. The shinigami felt her usual appearance return as her hair cascaded down her back, and her teeth gained back it's shark-like point.

Kuro grinned at the sight, stepping back a moment to watch it happen, overcome with confusion and awe.

"Oh, yes. Kuro, dear, there are so many things you don't know about me. Perhaps this will be interesting, for both you and I." The reaper mused.

"It is quite interesting." Kuro said softly, wondering aloud at the spectacular appearance change.

"Well, the night is short." Grell shrugged, pulling Kuro back towards her and tangling her fingers in the girl's long, raven hair.

* * *

A/N: Whoo, well that got a little too steamy a little too fast for me. If you care to read it, the rest of the night shared by Grell and Kuro will be posted separately as a one-shot, probably tomorrow if I do get around to it. Remember to follow me for notifications when I update my stories if you are interested in reading the one-shot.

On an entirely different note, I just noticed that I end chapters with something close to a cliffhanger, cutting it off right where it gets good. I'll try to find out a more interesting and appealing way to end my writing.

And to all my readers in the USA, happy Thanksgiving! c:

Make sure to review and tell me how you like this chapter, or the story as a whole so far and follow this story to get updates on when I post new chapters. Thank you for reading!

Notice; this chapter was probably up for five minutes before I took it down again because I forgot to correct the entire ending of mistakes. :P Silly me!


	5. Author's Note

Hello all you readers!

I'm truly sorry I haven't updated my fanfic in a whole week. I've just hadn't had the inspiration to write and a lot of things are on my mind. I'm going to really try and post the next (or last two) chapters this week, but please understand that it's hard for me to write at this time, because holiday is really busy for me.

Also, I continue to encourage you guys to write reviews on my chapters! It is immensly helpful and very encouraging when I see a review that one of you posted. If you tell me what you think about the story so far, it will influence how the story goes in the next chapter!

Say, if you wrote in a review that you really wished I'd elaborate on Kuro and Grell's relationship, then I can do that, but only if you tell me that's what you want to see.

Because really, I'm writing this story for all of you to enjoy. I already know the story in my head, so if it was just for me, I wouldn't be writing it. So, why don't you guys have a little fun with it? c:

Also, I will not be writing the one-shot about Kuro and Grell's evening. I feel like I left it off at a good place and romance like that isn't exactly my strong point in writing, and it would be boring for you all to read that steamy, stuffy writing. . I did almost want it to go quickly and even sooner then I did originally intend, because I feel like that night meant almost nothing to Grell in the way that it would go by quickly without a second thought. Like I said, she does it only to get back at Angelina and Sir Reginald.

However, that ship will be brought up to the table in future stories! c:

Please stay tuned for my next chapter, again, I'm sorry I haven't updated. Please know I'm working hard to bring you the last few chapters in all thier glory! Remember to review and tell me what you think of the whole thing!

Thank you very much!


	6. End

A/N: Hello, everyone! I don't have much to say because I covered everything in that author's note, but please do enjoy this chapter! Also, Grell does the shinigami pronoun change-o thing again in this chapter. There will be violence and gore, just as a trigger warning. I'm a terrible person with sadistic humor for thinking Grell is funny in this chapter.

* * *

The previous evening, Grell made a decision. Last night would be the last time he sees his mistress melt into the arms of the very man sent to frame her for her crimes. That morning, nature itself set the scene. Water drops fell delicately against the glass window panes, filling the quiet morning with the sound of rain and the scent of a brewing storm. The ungodly sky cast shadows across the earth, with grey clouds shielding the sun. No birds chirped under such a sky, boiling with anger and resent, ready to crash thunder and spark lightning across it's very own campus. Grell felt unusually giddy, and the normal spring in his step returned. He woke up early in the morning and partook in his standard schedule for the morning. Open curtains, prepare tea for Angelina to sip on while she read the newspaper. Everything went accordingly. This early in morning when nobody was awake, Grell didn't need to pretend to be clumsy. As he turned the corner to head to the kitchen, he ran into a distressed figure that seemed to be rushing towards him, dressed all in black. He tumbled over the figure, unable to distinguish who it was before his vision grew blurry. His glasses flew from his face as he landed on top of the figure.

"Goodness, Mister Grell! I must speak with you!" A familiar voice whispered urgently.

The butler ignored the voice at first and rolled off the figure, groping the ground for his glasses. The figure reached out and snatched his glasses off the carpet, cleaning them off before placing them on his face and gently sliding them up his nose. He slid back onto his knees and his vision returned, revealing the figure to be a distraught Kuro, in a black nightgown, barefoot with messy hair and a pale face. She looked as beautiful as she did when he left her, peacefully asleep, only now her tear-streaked cheeks were swollen with sorrow and her eyes were puffy and red. She must have been crying.

"Grell, you really should learn to be less flighty. You weren't clumsy with me last night." The girl pouted, standing up before helping the butler to his feet.

Grell blushed before smoothing the wrinkles from his coat. "What do you need me for?"

"I woke early to give you this." She swallowed the rising lump in her throat, pushing a torn envelope with a letter inside into his chest, before he took it.

"What is it?" He asked, puzzled.

"It's a letter," Kuro explained, inhaling before talking again. "From my father, two weeks ago. He wrote to me from his office in Venice. I need you to read it. I'm just sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

The butler frowned and opened the letter, beginning to read.

_My dearest Kuro,_

_ I am sorry I wasn't able to attend the party you held for Mother's birthday. I am hard at work at my office in London, investigating a case of a murder that carried out here last week. I'm sure you have been aware of the Jack the Ripper murders. It had been reported that another murder by the same culprit had been discovered last night. I will be personally investigating the suspects, who are known to be Baroness Angelina Dalles and her butler Grell Sutcliffe at the estate. I am inviting you to stay with me at the manor, so you can celebrate your birthday with me while I am working. London may be often rainy, but the countryside is lovely. I look forward to your visit in a week's time. _

_ Love, _

_ Father_

Grell slowly started to nod his head as he neared the end of the letter. Kuro looked up at him, with unsure eyes. She obviously didn't believe he was a murderer, but was more uncertain on how he would react.

"Well?" She squeaked, waiting for his reaction.

"I knew all of this already." The butler said flatly, handing her back the letter.

"You did?" Kuro's eyebrows raised. "How?"

"Your father gave me a letter to deliver when I went into town the next morning, about three days ago. I read the letter because I was suspicious. Please forgive me." Grell explained. He knew he didn't have to act so impotent with Kuro, but he couldn't figure out if he was keeping up the act or not around her. It was all very confusing.

"Of course I forgive you." She said. Her eyes welled up with tears, but he could see reluctance through her wobbling bottom lip. She caught a tear in her palm before it fell down her cheek, wiping it away from her face.

"What are you crying for? Keep your composure, Kuro." He whispered, smiling slightly.

She smiled and laughed. Only, Grell believed it was a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. Small tears slipped down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I should be happy…" She whispered, her voice cracking from hiccups and sniffles.

Grell brought the girl into a hug, letting her cry into his shoulder. The letter crumpled in her trembling clenched fist, and fell to the ground when she relaxed her fingers and wrapped her arms around his waist, taking in his comforting scent, trying to release the pressure built up over the last week. It seemed to the butler that she was holding onto him with every ounce of her power, as if she would break into a million pieces if she let go. The poor girl cursed herself between sobs for crying, murmuring the profanities under her breath. She sighed into the soft wool of his coat, closing her eyes.

"You should be happy." Grell whispered into her hair, combing the tangles from her long raven locks.

* * *

At breakfast that morning, it was eerily quiet, and the conversation was restricted and hushed. The sky continued to storm down on London, as it often did at the end of spring. Everyone had something to hide from the others. The empty sound of china clinking against china filled Grell's ears. The three sat at one end of a long banquet table, with Grell standing behind his mistress. Kuro had brushed the knots from her hair, and changed into the dress she wore when she arrived at the manor a week ago. It amazed the butler how proper Kuro acted around her father. If Sir Reginald knew half the things his daughter did while he was away, the man would never leave home. Grell could almost scoff at the thought of her father's face if she told him what she did last night with the 'servant'. When the clinking of china pounded throughout Grell's mind and he could no longer take the redundant clatter, he spoke up.

"What is your profession, if I may, Sir Reginald?" Grell asked innocently, cocking his head to the side.

Angelina's eyes grew wide at her butler talking out of turn. "Grell..." She mumbled, scolding him into her tea-cup.

"No, it's quite alright. I work as a professor in Liverpool, at the university." Sir Reginald replied, looking up at Grell.

"Really, now? How come your beloved Kuro gave me a letter that you sent to her two weeks ago, telling her that you will be investigating the 'Jack the Ripper' case and it's suspects? It sounds to me like you are a detective sent from the Guard..." The butler said.

Sir Reginald shot a glare at Kuro, who seemed to be cowering into her chair, hiding her face behind a tea-cup. Madame Red waited to see what would happen next, as if indecisive about how to approach the revealed information.

"You must be mistaken, Grell..." Sir Reginald shifted in his seat, glancing daggers at his daughter, whose face flushed bright red with embarrassment.

"But, I'm not. Kuro, dear, show your father the letter you showed me this morning." Grell smiled sweetly at the girl.

She huffed and glared her own daggers at Grell, before sitting up straight and pulling the letter she crumpled up earlier from her bodice, smoothing it out neatly on the table. Angelina looked as if she was about to faint as Kuro reached over the table to hand her father the crumpled letter that would have been otherwise discarded. Sir Reginald's eyes scanned the writing, his face growing more pale with each word. Madame Red jumped up from her seat, the abrupt motion knocking over the chair, and snatched the letter from her fiance's hands mid sentence, before reading it herself. Her face grew grim and she dropped the letter. Her eyes grew cold and stoney, and she looked down at the man she was engaged to.

"You lied to me." She whispered, hands beginning to shake.

Angelina reached over the tea-table and slapped Sir Reginald across the face, leaving a red hand print on his cheek. The sound of her hand across his flesh bounced off the walls. Things were quiet until she found her voice again.

"You lied to me!" The Madame yelled, repeating herself louder.

"I'm sorry, Angelina, I..." His voice trailed off in shock as his cheek began to sting.

She turned towards her butler, her face flushing red with anger. There was more sadness in her eyes. "I should have listened to you, Grell."

"Yes, you really should have." Grell nodded in agreement.

"Kill them. Sir Reginald and Kuro, too." Madame Red said, resent pounding with her words.

Kuro's eyes went dark and wide, and she sank lower in the chair. Sir Reginald jumped up and placed a hand on Angelina's shoulder. She slapped his hand away and he backed away.

"Angelina, I think you should sit down... Mister Grell can't kill anyone! He wouldn't hurt a fly!" The nobleman protested.

Grell's lips curled into a broad smile and he felt his teeth regain its sharp point.

"Honestly, Reginald," The butler walked towards him, pulling the ribbon from his hair and shaking it out to assume its normal flow. "I'm a woman, and that is the last time you will call me 'Mister Grell.'"

She ran her fingers through her hair, turning it her favorite scarlet color. She took off the dull round glasses she wore, and pushed her own red spectacles up the bridge of her nose, fitting it perfectly to her face. The man's eyes turned wide and Kuro stared in shock. Even though the girl was used to Grell's transformation, she was still astonished that the shinigami would reveal herself to Sir Reginald, and that Angelina would allow her to. Was she actually going to kill Kuro's father?

"It will be so easy to kill you! You... you pathetic bastard!" Grell's rage screamed through her words, intensifying with every breath.

The shinigami lifted Sir Reginald off the ground by his collar and flung him across the table, all the way to the other end. He skid to a stop at the end of the table. Kuro screamed and jumped up to run to her father, but froze when Grell turned towards her. She cowered back to her chair, with terrified big eyes. Angelina turned and walked out of the room, ordering Grell to finish the task and not to make too much of a mess. Her voice was flat and emotionless, which Grell knew to be how she treated most of her feelings.

"Kuro, do you think I would hurt you?" The reaper asked, pulling up her pant leg to take a sharp knife from her boot.

The girl watched the shinigami turn the knife in her hands, letting the light gleam from the blade. She sat with her mouth hanging open, and words didn't come to her. She couldn't even shake her head.

"Don't just sit there with your mouth open. It makes you look stupid," Grell scowled, unamused. "Do you think I will kill you?"

Kuro bit her lip before breathing her answer. "No."

"You are mistaken, my love. Death knows no mercy, and spares no godforsaken soul." The reaper sat on the table, next to the girl, who's lip trembled with fear.

Tears spilled down Kuro's cheeks, and her shoulders shook, but she sat with her back straight.

"Oh, don't cry. I'll even kill your father first, so you can prepare your lies when you testify in front of the gods you chant to during rituals." Grell smiled as comfortingly as she could, wiping a tear from the girl's soft cheeks.

Kuro sobbed through her words. "I'd wish you to kill me first. I do not want to see my father die."

"You are so selfish, even in the last hour of your life. You don't always get what you want." The redheaded reaper said, softly.

Grell sprang to her feet and pulled out a chair, stepping up up on to it before getting up on top of the table. She strode to the end of the table, and bent over to lift Sir Reginald up to a sitting position by his tie. His eyes shot open when he felt himself move. The poor wretch must have convinced himself he was dead already.

"I'm going to make this quick." Grell mused, bringing the knife to his chest.

A strangled scream rose in Sir Reginald's throat, and he brought both hands up to grip Grell's forearm, using his strength to try to stop her.

"You are in the shadow of Jack the Ripper herself. Stop fighting, Sir Reginald. It's depressing me. I just want to tell you one thing before I kill you... while you were busy with my mistress, I slept with your daughter." She narrowed her eyes and threw his hands off, plunging the blade into his chest, pushing it passed cavities in his flesh, and into his heart.

His eyes widened in pain and he choked on blood. Hot red blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his screams drowned in the salty crimson fluid. Grell let go of his tie, uncurling her fingers from the handle of the knife. It was pitiful the way he fought to breathe. She would have reminded him to save his strength, but pulled the blade from his chest, now dripping with thick red liquid, and slit his throat instead to finally end his life. The shinigami stood up and pushed the limp body off of the table with her boot, before turning back to Kuro, who was the same shaking train wreck when her father was alive, just a minute ago.

"It won't be that bad." Grell jumped down to the ground, walking over to the girl with the same normal spring in her steps.

"I have nothing to hide from death itself." Kuro replied, trying to gather up her courage and composure.

"That much is true. And you have nothing to fear. I will put in a good word to the gods." The shinigami came to halt behind Kuro's chair, and brushed her fingers along Kuro's skin, between the wells on her collar-bone in her chest and trailing up her neck before curling her fingers around the girl's neck.

"I do not fear you." Kuro inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes, awaiting the blow. "I love you, Grell."

"Kuro, I have shared many nights with many men, and last night means nothing to me. There is no doubt in my mind, however, that I will not think of you. Rest now, my love, be at peace." Grell whispered, moving her hand around to the back of Kuro's head, gently bringing her head back by her beautiful raven hair.

The blade ran across her neck, pretty crimson flowing from the wound, turning her skin red and soaking into the black bodice of her dress. Kuro's body turned cold and the shoulders slumped. The color drained from her lips. Her eyelids were closed. It was done.

* * *

That night, Angelina and Grell drank in the Madame's own home, on a sofa in the salon, away from stench of flesh and blood. Their faces were illuminated by candle light, and thunder and rain pounded down on the earth with relentless hate. This time they weren't in an unfamiliar cold flat with concrete floors, and they hadn't killed a useless prostitute like they were used to. They drank a bottle of wine Angelina received from a guest at Kuro's party the night before. It was most likely cheap, as it was mostly tasteless and quite watered down, but they could persuade themselves into thinking they were intoxicating themselves. Madame Red didn't smoke. She'd smoked her last cigar the last time. They sat in silence before Angelina spoke.

"You loved her, didn't you?" She whispered, looking over at her butler.

"No. I didn't love her." Grell replied, with a heavy sigh.

"I should have listened to you. I'm truly sorry, Grell." Madame Red said, brushing a lock of crimson hair behind her ear before taking a drink.

"I've heard your apology too many times before, and I've forgiven you every time." The reaper said.

The rain and wind droned on, against the windows and through the leaves on the trees.

"I feel like I need to beg for your forgiveness again and again. There is no excuse for my actions." Angelina set down an empty wine glass on the tea-table.

"If I didn't want to kill Kuro, I wouldn't have. I don't take orders from a human." Grell told her, feeling sick from the cheap drink. She set down her own glass. "Just promise me that you won't do this ever again."

Angelina slumped into the cushions, with her head on the shinigami's shoulder. "I promise."

Mistress and servant listened to the rain into the night, succumbed in the redundant drumming, before falling asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

A/N: Well, everyone, there you have it. You've just read the resolution to 'The Rose and Raven'. There may be a special edition chapter posted, so look out for it. I truly hope you have enjoyed reading my fanfic as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and stay tuned for my upcoming stories and one-shots.

And, I am fully aware that Grell is not physically a woman, just before you go and tell me that. Yes, she called herself a woman because that is the gender she identifies with.

Make sure to tell me how I did with this story by reviewing! I love critiques, even if it's harsh! It's very helpful to me.


	7. Author's Note, revised!

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone! This fanfiction is going to be **updated**, sometime in the near future.

As you may know, it has been revealed by Yana Toboso in the manga that shinigami are mortals who committed suicide in their human lives and were forced to become shinigami and reap souls as punishment for taking their own lives. I had previously had the theory that shinigami were mortals who were killed in any way and chosen to become shinigami based on their talents. This, as I have come to realize, would not be true.

So, my original plan for the sequel to this fanfiction is still in my head to write! But, I have to do some revisions to the last chapter and write an additional chapter, with it.

You can keep an eye out for the update, as I am working on it as hard as I can to bring it to you. It might take a while, though, because my documents have all been deleted and it will have to be written all over again. But, no matter, because I will find a way! Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews and for sticking with this story.

This is a work in progress and nothing is for certain... hopefully you can expect all of this in the future. c:


	8. Kuro's Cinematic Record

**Author's Note: **Here is the next special chapter for my update on this fanfiction. It is Kuro's cinematic record, from her perspective. If this is hard to understand, I'm truly sorry. It's basically little blips of Kuro's life and the elements following up to her death, from her own mind. I tried to write it like I was floating in an oblivion, with slivers of memories and small episodes of remembrance. I hope I'm not too confusing. If you have any further questions about Kuro, I'd love to answer them. Ask them in a review that I'll reply to, or a message that I'll respond to. Enjoy!

* * *

It was dark at first, but isn't that how everything begins? I suppose you could say, from a very young age, I was introduced to the idea of the color black, and since then we'd become find acquaintances. As an infant, my color was black. For a baby to mourn the loss of a woman they'd never knew existed, their mother, no less, is cruel in itself. In a way, I don't regret it. Until I could crawl, my color was the black of mourning. In a young child's eyes, the world is vivid and exploding with life, but to my eyes, all I could see was the dull colors of grey, black, and white. Even after the period of mourning was over, they dressed me in black. Ever since I could remember, my color has been black, and it only prepared me for further losses.

My earliest memory was that of the color, watching from the ground, staring up with wide eyes as our black curtains masked a mute light, dust floating in the air like pixie dust, always with the dark background of the color that had haunted my life. Even the fondest memory of my childhood, one with Bonnie, the nanny who raised me, there was the overlooking veil of black. Day after day of standing in front of mirrors, in dresses of black crepe, adorned with glossy black ribbons and small, smooth round beads of the same color, with my hair piled up on top of my head in small ringlets that tried to make my hair blend in less with the color of my attire, and look more like a prettier asset of myself. Bonnie wouldn't be careful enough not to stick sharp pins in my scalp, and even as I got older, to the age of twelve when I started wearing a training corset, she wouldn't be gentle in lacing it up. The woman was never gentle with me, and I suppose that was a blessing, too, since it would only familiarize me with the concept of people not taking me for a delicate girl any longer. She would pin back my hair and arrange bows on my dress and tell me I looked beautiful. Never speaking aloud, I wondered how such a dull color could ever make me look beautiful, when all the other girls are wearing dresses filled with color, that always seemed so much less vibrant in my eyes.

The only color I ever experienced in my life was that of flowers. Flowers, of every color and size and age. None of them black, and none of them sorrowful. Bonnie would tell me the names of all the flowers in the garden at my father's country estate. Alpinia, beaumontia, cleome, duranta, to name a few. Gorgeous flowers filled with color. I learned which flowers would poke their heads from the earth to meet the shining sun first, which ones would uncoil their petals and which would die first when the summer began to freeze back into the fall chill. All these flowers I became obsessed with, and everyday I would ask Bonnie to take me out to the garden and see them. Sit with them, watch them shake gently in breezes that tossed around my locks of raven hair. To sing with them and hear them grow, if you sat still enough and breathed their energy, the life that they sung in melodies that nobody else heard. To sketch them and record their growth, like watching a child grow, and watch them die each winter, and expect their rebirth in the spring. They became my only colors, and in a world of such limited color as mine, with fittings for those horrid black dresses and every birthday spent in the hot and uncomfortable color, I found a spark of hope, no matter how small, it was something to bring a light to my lonely life.

Why whoever chose to dress me in black made the decision, I don't know. Perhaps a tailor, who was only ever used to sewing me mourning garments, chose that I should just keep wearing the color. Maybe the fabric and dyes were cheaper that way, or they just didn't care. I know for sure, it wasn't my father's decision. He never decided anything when it came to me. I hardly ever talked to him, and when I did see him, it was like talking to a stranger. He would see me in those black dresses and tell me I looked beautiful, and once again, I would question it. Just like Bonnie had said, that I looked beautiful in the color, was it out of pity, or was it just a polite thing to say? Or perhaps, black was just destined to be my color, or I destined to wear the color, for almost every day of my life, with the exception of special occasions, or when it was specifically requested that I not wear it? My father was always travelling abroad, for work he said, and promised that he'd come back for my birthday and Christmas and that he'd never be too far. As a child, it was a game of waiting for him to come back home, being overjoyed when he came back with presents and stories to tell, and being broken and crumpled all over again when he left much too soon. When he lost his wife, my mother, tragically, he'd lost a daughter, too. And his daughter, she lost her color before she ever got a chance to experience what anything other then black felt like.

It became valuable to be comfortable in the color, though, especially when Bonnie became ill, and bed-ridden with sickness. I wasn't all that much younger then. At fourteen, all I would ever find myself doing was sitting at her bedside and tell her about things, like which flowers were growing at the most rapid speeds, or which flowers bloomed in a different color then the year before. Showing her my sketches, and being rushed out of her room by nurses who ran to her side when blood began to splatter over the bed sheets as she coughed and sputtered. I always left her room lonelier then the day before. She was, in a way, my only friend. When I had to go outside to the garden every day on my own, it still wasn't as terrible as having to wake up to her absence once she died. The color black became my new friend, once Bonnie had died, and I stopped going outside to see the flowers. I ceased sketching and shut out the colors of the flowers. Black was the only thing I had, and the color that had sheltered me my entire life became the walls that I built around myself. And now, instead of someone requesting that I wear the color black for me, I decided it on my own accord.

Solitude became a virtue, it seems, because every time my father left to go on another business trip, or came back with another young fiancé under his wing, it became easier to see him leave, and less exciting to see him come back. For some while, my sadness turned to anger. I was angry at him for leaving me, and for never giving me a chance in the first place. I was angry to see him come home, and would have the maids lace my corsets tighter to feel the anger through pain, and would find myself digging my nails into my thighs when the corset wasn't working. I buried myself instead in books, and the color I'd grown to love. The color black, the most undesirable color, the color of mourning.

For what, or whom was I mourning for? Certainly not for my mother, who all I knew of was that I was named after her in her honor. Not for Bonnie, who despite everything she did for me, became just another faint memory that I recalled when I saw flowers sitting on the table, or when I was handed a bouquet from my father, when he did return home. As I think about it now, maybe I was mourning for myself. A life lost, or a lost cause, anyway. Isn't that what I was? Only a silly girl who heard the flowers sing and took comfort in the darkness of the world?

How dreadful, because when I was faced with another color, four years after the flowers could no longer comfort me, I had no knowledge of how to react. The beautiful and overwhelming color of crimson red that left me completely breathless. At first, Angelina, my father's new fiancé, was nothing apart from every other woman that I was introduced to as my new mother. But, she had a depressing and thrilling spark of red that flashed through her eyes and hair and clothes. Everything about her was bold, and perhaps that was what drew my father to her in the first place. She had a color, just like me, but it was a gorgeous color that people admired, and I wonder now if I became jealous of her, or admired her like she truly was a mother, or something like an older sister. No, it was jealousy. Faced with this new color, I had to find the more subtle color of my childhood. Her garden wasn't as lavish as the one at my father's estate, in the country side of Liverpool, since London received too much rain. The soil was soggy and sour, and the sky was damp with rain, and anyone could tell that the flowers were drowning. But, it was a lovely place and the screaming scarlet of 'Madame Red' had sunk behind the fuzzy and delicate powdery colors of the flowers.

There was a dull little thing that came with the garden and the flowers. A small little man who went by the name Grell, the butler no less, who tended to the flowers and seemed to know enough about them to make them grow. It seemed to me that he could hear them, too. The voices of flowers that whispered softly at the touch of their petals, ones that were much nicer then the critical eye of humans. He would cower in the shadows of men and even women, and trip over the littlest of things and make so many mistakes, but he was gentle with the flowers, and gentle with me. The only experience I had with men was limiting. It was either the distant and neglecting shadow of my father, or the belittling and subjective cat calls of other men who seemed to had their way with me as much as I liked to think I had my way with them. Grell was different, though. He talked with me like I was a friend, and respected me the way one should with a lady, still keeping his distance. And as I slowly revealed myself to him, he put himself further in the shadows. I soon found my way into the bed of a man who much preferred to be sleeping with the flowers.

Of course, at first I was led to believe that this man had no color. There was nothing special about him. The way he carried himself with so little confidence was depressing, and his dull look was only that of a servant. However, it soon came apparent that he had a spark just like his mistress, Madame Red. A red spark, like an ember, screaming and overwhelming and sighing all at once. Everything I'd known before was stripped away, when the petty butler became a gorgeous woman, with the crimson color that shone in her eyes and at her fingertips, like the dripping of blood on a wall, a canvas behind her that she'd painted for herself. Grell became a color in my life, that, like Madame Red, I had no idea how to handle. How could I know? The only color before was black. Now, it was red. An angry red, like the anger I expressed when my fingernails dug into my thighs, or in the taught lace of the back of my corsets. A screaming red, that while it kissed me and caressed me, suffocated me with it's force and strangled me with it's ferocity. It wouldn't have been so alarming, either, if it didn't already feel like my lungs were being punctured from my own weight, my ribs being cracked with my own burdens and my heart being crushed with my sorrows.

With Grell, the hands that wandered along my skin both lulled me to an exalting tranquility, and caused my bones to cave in with the same gentle pressure. The lips that left ghosts of breathy kisses and trails of whispered words brushing against my neck both filled up a void and burned a hole into my heart. The touch that lasted for a night had become the only thing I'd ever want again. I would've died for the rush, the flash of red before my eyes. Long locks of crimson hair tangling itself against my own black hair, hands bigger then my own but still so feminine with fingers slender and nails chiseled and tame, interlacing with my own trembling fingers, with the cool of night settling in our bodies and the heat of passion growing between us, in spaces that left little room for growth. To be so close and so fine, so exposed and still so mysterious, it was a wonder and a thrill. She was like an angel and a monster to me, and how could I ever know that she would be the end of me, and everything else I knew in my short life, also?

My father's death was not so upheaving or shocking to me. Watching the same crimson anger that had gained a power and dominance over me just the night before plunge a knife into his heart was not as alarming to me as the fact that I was to be next in line to die at Grell's hands. I was crying, no, I was sobbing, not because my father was dead. He was like a stranger to me, anyway. No, it was because I'd spent my entire life so engaged and wrapped up in the color black and the idea of every dead and dark thing, that when it finally came my turn to meet the reaper, I was terrified. As I'd worn the black color of mourning for myself the eighteen years of my live, I was mourning over the tragedy of the events of my life just the same, even before it was over. Grell's hands felt so much stronger as she held the back of my head to her chest, tilting my chin back and tangling her fingers in my hair, less gentle now, pulling on the raven locks of hair. Perhaps it was a distraction, because I closed my eyes from the pain it caused me, so that maybe I wouldn't be so shocked as the blade of a knife ran across my neck. It was painful, and I won't deny that. It was swifter then I'd imagined it to be, though. More humble then I'd thought, and more sobering then I'd expected.

I have an odd view of death, like with everything. In a way it was an escape, from the darkness of my life and the color black that plagued me. On the other side of things, it catapulted me into further darkness. Being at peace with myself, I think, is what I fear the most. Being met with a short oblivion was terrifying, but there was no way I could scream or cry out in terror. I could just simply tell myself that it was scary, and move on to other thoughts. Memories, reflections. Just like this one, this story that I'm telling. I've told it before in my head, over and over. Trying to understand why I wasn't faced with the shining gates of heaven, or more accurately, the seething chains of hell. The darkness in my mind, like the darkness behind your eyelids, but I know that it wasn't like that. More deep, like I was inside myself. Inside my blackness, my color, without the vivid colors of the flowers, or the scolding but gentle voice of Bonnie telling me I looked beautiful in the color that I hated, and without the striking crimson of Madame Red or her butler. Just with myself, and it was dark.

It was dark at first, but isn't that how everything begins?


	9. Decision

**Author's Note: **Hello once again, everyone. After nearly eight months, here you have the resolution to this story. I wasn't originally intending to add these last few chapters, but now that the idea that humans who committed suicide in their mortal lives became shinigami in the afterlife became cannon, I decided to whip up these chapters and make a better ended that wrapped things up in a neater way. I like to entertain the idea that when someone who wasn't on the to-die list dies (such as Grell and Angelina's murder victims,) it creates an irregularity in the records, and their records can never be collected. So, whoever was responsible for the murder (or whoever knew the deaths of the people) has to fill out paperwork concluding their death. If the cause of death it unknown, then that space in the paperwork can be left blank. In this case, Grell must be forced to fill out more dreaded paperwork. Poor thing.

This last chapter does lead us to a sequel, hopefully. Enjoy, and please make sure to review! It would be extremely helpful to hear your feedback! Bye for now! c:

* * *

It seemed to Grell that in every place she visited that day, it was raining. She started the morning at the Madame's manor, waking before Angelina did. The redhead awoke to the soft ping of raindrops bouncing off of the windows. It took her ten minutes just to get out of bed, mostly because she moved slowly so that she didn't wake the sleeping woman in her arms. She held her breath as she padded across the room, with muted sunlight streaming in from behind the heavy drapes, which were pulled closed because Anne didn't feel safe with them open. The woman was so paranoid. Grell suddenly felt much too exposed in just her white button-up dress shirt, which she didn't manage to toss to the floor with the rest of her clothes the previous night. She tugged on the hem of the shirt as she walked over to Angelina's closet, with cool air settling onto her pale, bare legs. It was extremely uneasy for her to feel vulnerable, especially when she knew that it was only her and Anne in the room, and she was the only one awake. She couldn't help but feel like the whole world was looking in on her, cruel eyes gazing over her damned legs and the cursed body she lived with, as she pulled on her black trousers and changed into a different white dress shirt. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons and she tucked and untucked her shirt from her pants about twice before she felt like she got it right. Grell cursed at herself to get a grip as she tied up the red and white striped bow around her neck before folding over her shirt collar and lacing up her heels. As soon as she shrugged on her vest and rolled up the cuffs of her sleeves, securing the buttons and flipping her hair back behind her shoulders, she was ready to leave for work.

Walking back into the bedroom, stepping even lighter on the floorboards now that she was wearing heels that clicked against the surface, she glanced over at Angelina. Her face looked relaxed as she slept, and she pulled her legs up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs with her chin tucked against her neck, in the same position Grell left her in. The shinigami sighed, knowing that she couldn't leave the woman today without some kind of last touch, just in case. Grell quickly walked over to her and pulled the blankets tighter around her body, gently brushing her scarlet bangs from her eyes before planting a soft kiss on her forehead. There was something about Angelina that made Grell want to treat her like a child. Either it was the way she cried and sulked, or the way she tried to act like a respectable adult, Grell didn't know. Every affection she'd felt for anybody else was driven by passion, heated and rough. It was different with Anne, though. Grell felt like she needed to be gentle, to hold her in her arms with such a delicacy, that if she made one wrong move, the woman would shatter to pieces with her touch. The redheaded reaper brushed away her anxieties as she closed the door to Angelina's bedroom behind her, not caring now to walk carefully so that her heels didn't click against the floor with every step.

Now, it was away from Madame Red's household, to the Shinigami Dispatch, to assume her normal position reaping souls and filling out paperwork, and pretend that everything was normal. Outside, Grell didn't mind the little sprinkle of water droplets against her face. In a way it was sobering, and the clouds were a light grey instead of a drenched, dark color like they were the other day. London saw a lot of rain in the spring, and this year was no exception. She just hoped that the flowers wouldn't fair too harshly with all the rain they were soaking up. Maybe they needed the rain, just like the shinigami, to feel like life would go on and the scheme of things would still play out. Nature would still roll on with it's agenda, and the events of humans would mean nothing in the end. Not deaths, lives, murders or suicides would ever matter. At least, that's what Grell tried to assure herself with as she rode up in the elevator to her office. It felt strangely familiar to once again be found in the tedious elevator rides up the dozens of floors to her office. She'd spent the whole day out on the field the last time she got to work, and being able to see regular faces that she'd lived with for the last century or so was refreshing. There wasn't any short oriental girls with deep brown eyes and a pinched, button nose around to pester her. No men from the Guard to worry over. She was actually enjoying stopping in her friends' offices to say hello and catch up on gossip. That was, until she saw William. Grell smoothed down the stray strands of hair that had flown up from the static of the rain, and plastered a smile on her face. She was an actress. Lights, camera, action.

"Oh, Will!" She called, making sure to breath his name in her normal theatrical lilt. Whenever she spoke to anybody else, she stuck to her more calm, deeper tone. She wondered why it was always different for William when she had to speak to him.

The man turned to face the horrid redheaded mess that was swiftly approaching him from down the hall. His face fell suddenly as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "What a bother. I rather enjoyed your absence, Sutcliff. What made you decide to come back?"

"Silly Willy! I wanted to see you~" Grell chuckled as she stopped in front of him, shooting him a wink that made his stomach turn.

"That's a terribly unnecessary excuse to disturb this office building. The silence was rather nice." William glared, trying to ignore the way Grell's face lost a point of flamboyance. "Do you have any other excuses for me today? For example, why you're slacking off on your paperwork? Or maybe, why you're going around murdering those not on the to-die list?"

Grell decided not to panic. He couldn't possibly know about the properly claimed 'Jack the Ripper' murders. "What are you talking about? No excuses here! If you want some, go find Ronnie. I'm sure he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve to why he's been clocking out before his shift is ov-"

"Save it, Sutcliff. You know as well as I that there has been two irregularities in the records, and with your absence, I suspected it was you." William's expression didn't even twitch. "Would you mind explaining this whole ordeal to me, in my office?"

"How about a little more then chatting, William? Won't you finally admit that you love me?" Grell smiled, relaxing now that she realized he wasn't talking about her murdering those prostitutes. He must be talking about that little rich girl and her father. What was her name again? It started with a K...

"How pathetic. Follow me." He ordered, taking in a deep, exasperated breath. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the migraine developing in the back of his head as he lead Grell through the halls to his office, which was much bigger then the redhead's, since he was the supervisor.

Grell closed the door to his office behind her, noticing that it was raining even at the Dispatch. Rain pounded with more aggression on the tall, glossy windows of the office as she took a seat on a plushy chair that she sunk into, in front of William's desk. She wrung her hands together and examined her nails as William sat down behind his desk, scooting the chair up to get a better reach as he shuffled through papers momentarily, before starting his interrogation.

"I suspect that you do know about the irregularities in the records. Am I correct?" William asked, not bothering to look up from the papers.

"Of course. I keep myself filled in on all the juicy gossip around here." Grell smiled as she looked up at him. "I don't miss anything."

"So you know that two souls were missed because of someone's carelessness, and what consequences come from that, don't you?"

"All I know is that when somebody who wasn't on the to-die list dies, either from an unforeseen murder or an unplanned suicide, their cinematic records can't be successfully reaped and added to the Library of Records. I don't know why I would know any more then that, given that I haven't murdered anybody I knew wasn't exactly supposed to die... yet." Her tone fell short towards the end of her sentence, and guilt welled up again in her heart.

"Yes, that's precisely correct. When a person not on the to-die list is killed, however, it's usually by a shinigami, or by their own hand. You and I both know that if someone was killed by their own hand here in London, they will become shinigami. If you have an unsettled dispute with them, such as killing their father, perhaps it will not end well for you." William cleared his throat before moving on. "Sutcliff, it will be easier for both you and I if you just confess to the irregularities now, so that you can get the paperwork over with."

"Fine." Grell narrowed her eyes at William. "I'm responsible for the irregularities on the record. One of them a girl named Kuro, yeah?"

"Correct. A girl named Kuro Acartha, and her father, Reginald Acartha. You know both of them, right?" William asked, his voice seeming to grow thin with patience.

"Yes, I know them both." The redhead mindlessly picked at a limp curl at the end of a lock of her crimson hair. This was getting boring for her, too.

"Unfortunately, their records were both lost to us, when they died. So, you will have to fill out some paperwork concerning details about their cause of death. Get it done now, so that I can collect it and get on with my schedule." William sighed. He pushed an index finger against his temple, closing his eyes momentarily to subside the throbbing in the back of his head, if not for a few seconds.

Grell noticed this, and smiled. "Maybe a gun shot to the head wasn't the best idea. Couldn't you have picked a better way to go?" She teased, knowing that his chronic migraines was from the way he decided to end his life.

"Well, it was a better alternative to a rope around my neck. At least I can breath half of the time." He shot back, his expression glowering at the irritating redhead reaper.

"Please." Grell rolled her eyes as she dropped the lock of hair she was twisting around her finger, sitting up to look at the paperwork. "Can I borrow a pen?"

William pushed the paperwork in front of the redhead and handed her a pen as she read the first few questions. She decided to fill out the first paper for Sir Reginald, since his death would be easiest to recall. Even so, she noticed her handwriting wobbling as she wrote in his first and last name. Questions about his age and previous health she had to skip, because she didn't know much more about him. Cause of death; stab wound to the heart, and a laceration to the throat that severed arteries, killing him instantly. As soon as she finished that paper, she slid it back over to William, who snatched it up and scanned it over with his yellow-green eyes. The next would be for Kuro. Grell found her handwriting become more and more shaky as she filled in the girl's first and last name. Or rather, the woman. She'd just turned eighteen the previous night before her death. Her life was so short. Grell took a deep breath and paused before writing the cause of death. Of course, she knew that she had slit Kuro's throat, which killed her right away, leaving no time to whisper reconsidered last words. Or perhaps, they didn't have to be her last words. Kuro could have another chance. William had said that if one of them had committed suicide, they would be stationed at the London Dispatch. What if one of them had? Grell could lie. They wouldn't ever know, because they never obtained the correct cinematic records in the first place. With a more confident boost in her writing, she filled in the last question. Cause of death; suicide, by slit throat. She reconsidered it before handing it over to William. Grell could scribble out her answer and write in the correct way of death for Kuro, and end the whole thing altogether. Would Kuro be angry, if she ever got the chance to seek Grell out again? Would she want revenge? Or would she be grateful that she got another chance? There was something different about Kuro, that much like Madame Red, Grell felt like she had to treat her like a child. She was so delicate, but her soul was aged with experience, with an antique sort of aura around her. She'd fit right in.

Grell gave William the last piece of paperwork and sat back in the chair, waiting to be dismissed. She examined William's expression as he read through the paper, an eyebrow quirking as he looked up at her. "She committed suicide, the same night her father was killed? You do know what this means for you, don't you?"

"Yes. She was terribly distraught after I killed that sorry wreck of a father. I told her to end her miserable life. Cruel as it might be, I wasn't thinking that clearly. I didn't realize she would have the chance to come back as a shinigami until after she died." Grell huffed. "I can only imagine how she'll react when she wakes up to another hell. You'll like her, William. I think you'll find her quite interesting."

"It seems to me that you sure did." William replied, placing the papers in a folder before standing. "You are dismissed. I advise that you get to your office to catch up on more paperwork, before I give you overtime to make up for it."

"Of course, Willy dear." She smiled at him as she turned around. As soon as she was out of the office, the smile faded on her lips, and she tried to forget about the retched girl that always seemed to make reappearances, as she walked to her office. The sound of rain falling on the windows echoed throughout her mind, and it haunted her thoughts, much like the girl who wouldn't seem to disappear.

Maybe she wouldn't disappear. Grell didn't know what she hoped for, yet.


End file.
